Page 66 of Woman on the Verge

I am instantly lifted, soaring. I dance my way to the kitchen table.

“Pizza? I don’t want pizza,” Grace whines.

I don’t even care, though. Let her whine.

I bring two plates of lasagna for Kyle and me, and say, “Let’s go around and say what we’re grateful for.”

I only do this on days when I’m in a good mood, when I’m capable of considering gratitude.

“I’m grateful that Mom is a toilet,” Grace says.

I laugh right along with her and Liv. Kyle looks at us like we’re all insane. Maybe we are. I am, for sure.

I savor the text throughout the rest of the night. It carries me through bath time, teeth brushing, pajama changing, book reading, and lullaby singing. I am longing to respond and also not sure about responding.If I respond, it will escalate. Do I want it to escalate? The irresponsible, selfish part of me does. Should I honor that part? It’s been so neglected.

I close the door to the girls’ bedroom and tiptoe to the staircase, deciding I will go to the living room, curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, and engage in a text messaging extravaganza with Elijah. But as I step onto the first stair, I hear Kyle:

“Hey,” he says.

He’s in bed. I can see light from the TV dancing across the walls.

“Did you need something?” I ask, peering into our room, hands pressed into opposite sides of the doorframe.

He turns off the TV.

“You coming to bed?”

“I was thinking I’d watch TV in the other room,” I say. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

He doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve co-opted his phrase from earlier.

“Why don’t you come here?” he says, patting the bed next to him.

I’m anxious to tend to my phone, to respond to Elijah. I’m humming with nervous, excited energy. I must look like I’m on uppers.

“I feel like I need some alone time after today,” I say.

He sighs. “Okay, can’t say I didn’t try.”

His voice is dripping with self-pity, and I am overcome with wrath.

“This isn’t about you,” I say.

“What?”

“I’m going through a really hard time, and you’re just mad I don’t want to have sex with you. This isn’t about you.”

He looks surprised by the vigor and venom in my voice.

“I miss you, Nic. You act like that’s some terrible offense to you.”

“You miss my body, which you want on your terms, when it’s convenient for you. I’m tired of it.”

My limbs tingle with adrenaline or a coming hot flash. Kyle puts up both hands, like a cop trying to calm down an erratic, angry meth head.

“Whoa now,” he says.

“Don’t do that,” I say. “Don’t act like I’m crazy.”

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